by Naima Simone
His hands gripped her ass, easily supporting her weight. He didn’t grunt, nor did his muscles strain as he pulled her closer. God, that was sexy. Utterly and completely.
She tightened her arms around his neck, slid her fingers up the nape of his neck and over his head. The surprisingly soft strands tickled her palms, adding another sensory memory to the collection she was building. Palming his head, and trusting him to hold her, she hitched higher up his body until they were mouth to mouth, giving breath for heated breath.
“Like this,” she whispered. “Kiss me like this.” And she crashed her lips over his. Without hesitation, she thrust her tongue forward, tangling around his. She sucked on him, and he fed her his growl of pleasure, which vibrated against her chest like electrical pulses, pebbling her nipples into aching points. But just one couldn’t satisfy this hunger he’d stirred and detonated inside her. Maybe a hundred of those greedy rumbles wouldn’t be enough. But as she delved deeper for more, he snatched the reins from her. Angling his head, he plunged inside her, and she had a vivid, astonishingly carnal preview of what it would be like when his cock tunneled through her sex. When he penetrated, possessed, and branded. She whimpered, opening wider for him, but not submitting. As much as she wanted to be taken, she wanted to take. And for every demanding stroke and hard sweep and insistent suckle, she returned every one of them.
They clashed, like warriors meeting on a battlefield of lust. Never retreating, both giving and staking ownership. At least for this moment.
His grip on her ass tightened, and with an almost casual flex of muscle, he ground her against dick. Circling her flesh over his. Sliding her up and down his length. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Desperate, she released her hold on his head and clawed at the tangle of her nightgown around her legs. Too many seconds later, she had the silk bunched around her hips, the only barrier between them her lace panties and his pants. Digging her fingernails into his broad shoulders, she ripped her mouth from his and tipped her head back, closing her eyes.
“Again. Please. Again,” she begged. Pride had no place right now on this shadowed balcony. Lust had razed pride to the ground, and the night wind had scattered its ashes.
He opened his mouth over her neck, his teeth grazing the column, and he complied. Her underwear was an insubstantial barrier to the wide, dense weight of his cock. Even though his pants still covered him, the material added a friction over her slick sex that had her sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. Slowly, so slowly, he rolled her over him, pausing at the tip of his erection to grind and circle directly over her clit. Stars burst behind her eyelids, and she couldn’t contain the needy groan that tore out of her.
“I want more of that,” he murmured in her ear, nipping the lobe then licking the tiny sting away. “More of those sounds out of you. More of your pleas. More of you. Are you going to give it to me, baby?”
She lifted her head, met his piercing, intent stare that glittered with arousal. He asked for her body, her pleasure. Yes. She could give him those—they were physical, temporary. Safe.
And if a little pang of hurt twinged inside her chest because he didn’t ask for more, she quickly submerged it under the passion. She didn’t need to give more—didn’t want to. This—being in his arms with the promise of oblivion wrapped in an orgasm—was more than enough.
“Yes,” she said aloud, crushing her mouth to his once more.
Then they were moving.
Off the balcony. Through the suite. Into her bedroom.
When she’d left the room earlier to seek him out, she’d left one of the lamps on the bedside dresser on. And now, with its soft glow bathing the room in a low light, she congratulated herself on her foresight. Because to miss any bared inch of Alexander Bishop would’ve been a crime.
He crossed the room to the bed and stopped in front of it. Carefully, he eased his hold on her, waiting for her to unwrap her legs from around his waist and lower her feet to the floor. Only then did he remove his support. Big, long-fingered hands slid up her back, over her shoulders, and glided down her arms.
She trained her gaze on the base of his strong throat, her lashes fluttering down again at his just-this-side-of-rough stroke over her body.
“Look at me,” he rumbled. Not waiting for her compliance, he pinched her chin between his finger and thumb and tipped her head up. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. Tugging it down just a bit before releasing and repeating the caress. “Keep those pretty eyes on me. I need to know what you’re thinking.”
He would be the first man to request that—to know her thoughts. To want them. Still, it was a moot point. She could barely remember her name much less think. But keep her eyes on him? Watch need darken those grey eyes to nearly black? Witness the flush that stained his lust-tautened features? Greedily note how his chest rose and fell on deep, harsh breaths? Not a hardship. At all.
“Whatever you want,” she whispered.
“Whatever?” he repeated, pressing harder against her bottom lip until her teeth lightly abraded the tender flesh on the inside. Not enough to hurt, but more than sufficient to give her a clue that offering him carte blanche with her body might not be the wisest decision…
“Yes,” she breathed, slipping her tongue out for a quick swipe over his fingertip. “Whatever.”
Heat flashed like lightning in his stormy gaze, and his lips replaced his thumb. She rose on tiptoes to meet him, open wider for him. Their tongues engaged in an erotic duel, parrying, thrusting, and sliding over each other. One of his hands slid up her nape, burrowing in her hair and fisting the strands. She gasped, her lashes fluttering but not lowering at the carnal sting. His other hand lowered between them and tugged at the sash on her robe. She didn’t help him, too busy mapping the broad, solid width of his shoulders. God, he was firm, strong. A man who made a living out of sitting behind a desk and running companies shouldn’t have dense muscles with no give, that she could barely squeeze. On the balcony, she’d compared him to a statue. She hadn’t been wrong. Indomitable. Hard. But no monument of plaster or stone had ever burned with heat or practically vibrated with intense vitality and sexuality.
One more tug at her robe, and it parted. Alex freed her mouth, dipping his head to stare at what he’d uncovered. Both of them watched as he settled his palms over the tops of her breasts, his long fingers sliding under the silk. Slowly, he eased the robe from her shoulders, and with the smallest of nudges, sent it shimmying down her arms and to the floor.
She couldn’t move, could barely breathe under the power of his gaze. Yet, as if he had reached out and trailed one of those blunt-tipped fingers over her skin, her nipples peaked, telegraphing her arousal. Her desire to exchange his visual caress for a physical one.
Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss along her jaw, trailing his lips to her ear. “You’re beautiful.”
Against his order, she closed her eyes. Two simple words—words she’d heard hundreds of times before. But when he said them in that shiver-inducing, rough growl, so different from his usual unruffled tone, she might as well have heard the compliment for the very first time. They touched something deep inside her. Something that she covered with bravado and sarcasm. Something she rarely allowed people to see because they might use it as a weapon against her.
“Kiss me,” she ordered, needing him to drown out the vulnerability he’d unknowingly revealed with lust and pleasure.
He didn’t reply… Or yes, he did. By lowering his head and sucking her nipple into his mouth through the silk of her negligee. She cried out, clutching his head to her, arching into his mouth. The insistent, hard tug echoed in her sex, and moisture spilled onto her folds. She tightened her thighs, pressing them together. But the movement only intensified the ache. Hell, the only thing that would ease the hot throbbing was him. Inside her.
Alex released her flesh with a soft pop, but then returned, drawing a circle around the stiff bead with the tip of his tongue, flicking it, before engulfing her again. Whimpering, she twis
ted, trying to get closer to his big body, and what…? Rub over him like a damn cat in heat? Hike her thigh on his hip and notch that big, thick erection against her? Yes and yes. Something. Anything. But firm hands gripped her hips, preventing her from crowding closer. No, he made her stand still and take the pleasurable torture he inflicted.
Air kissed her damp flesh as he drew the strap of her nightgown down, baring her breasts to him. Lifting his arms, he gently removed her hand from his head so he could slide the straps off. Like the robe, the negligee floated down her body and pooled around her feet. Leaving her clothed in a lacy pair of black panties.
Wide hands spanned the width of her torso, making her feel delicate and feminine. He stroked up her abdomen, not stopping until he cupped her breasts. She stared down as he whisked his thumbs back and forth over her nipples, the view adding to the fiery darts of desire setting her aflame. She moaned, covering his hands with hers, squeezing, molding. Together they shaped her, and when he replaced his fingers with hers on her pebbled tips, she unashamedly twisted and tugged. Showing him what she liked. Dipping his head, he opened his mouth, sucking her fingers and nipples. His tongue came into play, and together, they caressed her flesh. She couldn’t contain her whimpers that tumbled freely out of her parted lips. God, it was…hot. So damn hot.
With a growl that smacked of impatience, Alex backed her up the scant distance to the bed, and picking her up, lay her on the mattress. He followed her down for another luxurious lick over each nipple before straightening, his fingers going to the buttons running down the front of his dress shirt.
Pushing herself onto her elbows, she watched, enraptured, as he revealed slice after slice of taut skin. With a yank at his cuffs and bottom of his shirt, he shrugged the clothing off, tossing it to the floor, and…
Holy. Shit.
She gasped, shoving to a sitting position on the bed.
Taut, olive-tinted flesh. Tight, firm muscles. Strong, thick arms. A wide, deep chest. A flat, ridged abdomen. All gorgeous, but they didn’t suck the air from her lungs, widen her eyes in shock, or have her gaping like a fish.
That honor belonged to the ink.
The dark scrolls and splashes of color that covered the right side of his torso, reached over his shoulder, and stretched down the top half of his arm.
Tattoos.
Reserved, proper Alexander Bishop had tattoos.
But… She scooted toward the edge of the bed, leaning forward. They weren’t just random images. Yes, a beautiful rose trimmed in a dark violet bloomed along his side, but script circled the rose… “You think the dead we loved truly ever leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly in times of great trouble?”
Under the talons of a brown, gold, and black eagle, more words: “I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”
And running along the trunk of a Celtic tree: “Some walks you have to take alone.”
Quotes from books—Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, The Return of the King, and Mockingjay. More script was cleverly entwined among other images or beautifully inked on its own along his rib cage, the crest of his shoulder, the inside of his arm.
He was a walking, breathing work of literature.
She extended a hand toward him, but after a moment, lowered it to her thigh.
“God,” she whispered, awed. “I don’t know whether to touch you or read you.”
He shook his head, huffing out a breath that seemed caught somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. More shock pummeled her as he climbed on the bed, forcing her to slide back on the mattress.
“Did you just laugh?” she demanded, clapping her hands to either side of his face and studying his mouth and eyes for hints of amusement.
“Morgan,” he drawled, grasping her wrists and removing her palms. Entwining their fingers, he pressed her hands down beside her head. “You talk too much,” he murmured, claiming her mouth in a burning kiss that almost incinerated thoughts of tattoos from her mind. Almost.
“You’re the beautiful one,” she breathed against his lips, tracing the leathery-looking wing of an emerald dragon.
He stilled above her, his eyes darkening. Before she could decipher the emotion, though, he lowered his head, trailing a hot path down her neck, between her breasts, and over her belly. She sucked in a breath, moaning, her fingers curling into the covers under her.
“Alex,” she whimpered, guessing where he headed. Of their own volition, her legs spread wider, accommodating the width of his shoulders. Not that she was arguing with them. Between her thighs was exactly where she wanted him.
He didn’t hesitate, didn’t keep her waiting. A low rumble that vibrated against the insides of her thighs was her only warning before his mouth opened over the heart of her. A cry tore free of her throat, and she grabbed at him, her fingernails scrabbling at his shoulders. She didn’t wait for him to rid her of her panties. Instead, desperate for his mouth on her bare sex, she pushed at the underwear herself. He aided her, rearing back to strip the flimsy material down her legs. But he didn’t immediately return. His hooded gaze settled on her, and the intensity had her modesty creeping in. She fidgeted, unable to remain still, inching her hands toward the part of her that received the full power of his heavy stare.
“Don’t,” he rasped, his eyes flicking up to her face before pinning back on her swollen flesh. Her swollen, wet flesh. God, she could feel how drenched she was, and he had a front row seat. “So pretty,” he murmured, trailing a featherlight caress over one fold and then the other. So gentle, and yet it had her squirming. Had the flames inside her leaping higher. “I would say just as I imagined, but my fantasies don’t compare to reality. Look at you. All flushed, pink, and wet. So fucking wet. And all for me.” His gaze roamed up her torso to meet hers. “This is all for me, isn’t it, Morgan?”
She nodded, unable to speak. But it must’ve been enough, because with a low hum, he replaced his fingers with his lips, rubbing them over her sex. And when he lifted his head and slid his tongue over his moist mouth, his lids were heavy as he savored her.
Jesus. The sight of him enjoying her taste set a blow torch to her insides. Could anything be more erotic? He licked a path up her cleft, circling her clit. Her back arched, a cry breaking free of her throat. Yes, damn it. Something could be more erotic.
He feasted on her. Devoured her. Spread her wide, lifted her to his mouth and ate her like she was the finest meal, and he a starving man. Fingertips pressed into her ass, he lapped at the bundle of nerves cresting her sex, teasing it before sucking it. He wasn’t neat about it. Not shy. He left no part of her undiscovered. From her pulsing clit to the clenching entrance that he teased with shallow thrusts of his tongue. And the sounds he made? Oh God. They were dark, hungry, desperate. And the vibration against her flesh added another sensation.
A big finger pressed to her core, then slid inside, filling her. Then he added another, stretching her. He withdrew, then thrust forward, his knuckles bumping her folds. Shuddering, she groaned, unable to watch, to see him taking her for the first time, even if it was just his fingers. Lust tightened his features, and the liquid evidence of her desire gleamed on his full lips. Like her, he studied his hand as he slowly pumped her flesh. He didn’t hurry, torturing and pleasuring her.
“Alex, please,” she pleaded, twisting, her body adding to her begging.
“Please, what?” Another slow slide and gradual withdrawal that set her nerve endings crackling, had her sex spasming. “Tell me what you need, baby.”
She whimpered, bucking her hips. “Harder. Faster. I need…” She moaned. “Make me come. God, make me come.”
The low rumble in his throat was her only warning before he plunged hard and high inside her, giving her exactly what she’d asked for. And fuck, did he give it to her. Stroke after stroke, he drove her toward an orgasm that she raced toward and skittered away from, faintly intimidated by the power of it. But her body had no such fear. Her sex rippled, throbbed. He la
tched onto her clit, his tongue tugging as his fingers pounded into her, pushing her, pushing her… And with one crook and rub of his fingers against a place high inside her that no man had ever searched for much less reached, she exploded. The orgasm seized her in its relentless, mind-shattering grip and refused to let go. It sizzled through her like lightning, and she was the divining rod for ecstasy.
Her chest heaved as she returned to her body, shaking and sweating. Small shocks continued to ripple through her, and even the small stir of the air conditioning seemed almost too much for her sensitized skin.
“So the G-Spot isn’t a myth,” she rasped, blinking her eyes open to find Alex’s hooded gaze on her.
Licking her lips, she returned his stare. God, how he watched her. Like a ravenous beast, and she had the sense that if she made the slightest move, he would pounce and devour her. And though he’d just treated her to an out-of-body experience, her flesh still quivered and clenched, begging for a deeper, fuller claiming that only his cock could stake.
“I have condoms in my room,” he murmured in that silk-and-gravel voice. “Do you want me to go get them?”
She stilled. The yes should’ve been automatic. She was on the Pill, but she didn’t have sex without protection. Not even with Troy. Yet…she didn’t immediately reply. Alex inside her, nothing between them. She shivered. The thought sent her body into overdrive, her heart thumping like a rabbit late for a very important date. The intimacy of having all of him, bare, unhindered. Of feeling him come, knowing what it felt like to have a man—Alex—bathe her with his seed. She’d never experienced it, hadn’t been aware she wanted to…
“Yes,” she said, the word almost blasting from her. “Condom.”
He nodded and disappeared out of the room, leaving her alone with her damn logic and aching body. She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d made the right decision, damn it. To have said no would’ve made this something more special than sex. It would’ve been admitting, to herself at least, that he was doing more than ending her sexual drought. That he meant more than a temporary bed partner…